


Mēnin

by FakeCirilla9



Category: The Iliad - Homer
Genre: Forced Feminization, Gang Rape, Humiliation, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26560198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakeCirilla9/pseuds/FakeCirilla9
Summary: Written for the prompt: I’d like to see this as a noncon gang rape prompt, preferably! So this prompt is very exciting to me because of what it means for the characters. Achilles’ whole thing is his pride, and to be used by the Entire Greek Army would basically make his status the level of a prostitute. If you feel up to it, I’d love to see the aftermath of the gang rape and how Achilles does or does not cope. I definitely see the reason why as penance for him choosing not to fight— or maybe Achilles offers himself up, not expecting his honor to be besmirched? Just mess him up lol.I’d prefer for Patroclus to not be included (either he’s dead or is not around for the rape) or you go Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida route and make him an asshole.
Relationships: Achilles/The Entire Greek Army
Comments: 18
Kudos: 19
Collections: Darkest Night 2020





	Mēnin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astrospecial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrospecial/gifts).



> My countless thanks to [Starling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClementineStarling), who beta'ed the work and improved it considerably ^^

"Fine, I will give up the girl but I require some compensation. I will not bear staying empty handed."

At this declaration of King Agamemnon, nigh all of the gathered breathed with relief. Only Achilles spat with contempt.

"And what compensation would you demand? Will you take from us more than you already did? Whose girl will you steal, you greedy hoarder?"

"Well, since you came up with the idea, I reckon your Briseis is very beautiful."

"I will not allow it!"

"And who are you to oppose me? I am the high king of this army and all here, you included, swore me allegiance. I will take your girl and teach you obedience as well. Seize him!" The last order was barked at his guard.

Achilles leapt up as men surrounded him. He was not armed for a battle, but even a sword meant more an ornament than a real weapon was mortally dangerous in Achilles' hands. Outnumbered, he fought for a long while like a lion caught in a trap. But even the fiercest among beasts must eventually surrender to a plethora of enemies.

They brought him to his knees, holding him down as Agamemnon approached.

"There, finally in a proper position before me," the high king commented, beholding the snarling blonde.

"You are only strong by the hands of your men. Without them, you are nothing." Achilles never knew where to stop.

Anger lit up Agamemnon's eyes.

"Am I? You will yet regret your insolence."

His eyes never leaving the arrogant soldier, Agamemnon unbuckled his jewelled belt. Achilles frowned, clearly not getting what's in store for him. He will know soon enough. Even when wrath twisted his fine features, he was still beautiful. And Agamemnon was frustrated at having to part with his favorite war spoil. Achilles will compensate him for the loss, one way or the other.

Achilles' eyes widened as the king parted his robes before him with obvious intent and it was not possible to stay ignorant of his desires any longer. The son of Peleus fought with renowned vigour, but at a sign from Agamemnon, he was forced further down, pushed to the floor by the scruff of his neck and pinned down despite his struggles and curses.

The rest of the war council observed the events in uneasy silence, no one dared to oppose the king of Mycenae, only Nestor spoke up:

"My king, listen to the wisdom that comes with age: you are taking it too far! Anger is a bad adviser. Better to delay this matter for the next day than regret some rash actions long afterwards."

"I do not wish to belittle you, but you are a man of counsel. You advise, I decide. And this vain man cannot be tamed otherwise,” Agamemnon said and descended upon the still struggling Achilles.

“If you dare to lay a finger upon me, you will regret it! I will set the gods themselves against you!” Achilles threatened.

He trashed and growled in frustration but couldn’t free himself from the many arms that pinned him down. All his struggles served only to tear up his already rustled robes when Agamemnon’s hands joined these of his soldiers. Even more aroused by the prospect of breaking resistance, Agamemnon thrust into him. Angry shouting changed into a wail of pain, then Achilles was silent, clenching his jaw.

The gathered men murmured among themselves. Some turned their eyes away, but some looked on, their expressions varying from disgust to lust. Achilles was beautiful and even in such a compromising position, he was a sight to behold. His tunic rumpled up, showing tempting bits of well-formed limbs; his tangled hair did not quite obscure the face, his fair features now twisted in rage; the white teeth bared, he swallowed any noise Agamemnon may bring from him. 

In more than a few onlookers, the spectacle evoked an involuntary response of the flesh.  
After a few brutal thrusts, Agamemnon came with a satisfied groan but even then he was not done with proving his power to all of these that stood witness.

“Who’s next?”

Achilles roared and tried to shake off the hands of his captors but they held fast. He did not look subdued in the slightest. If anything, he was even more enraged.

“Just try and you will know my revenge,” he warned, eyeing the men crowding around.

“So you keep saying but maybe the gods deprived you of their favour as none has come to your rescue yet,” Agamemnon mocked. “Is there no one eager to take my place? My brother, perhaps?”

Menelaus shook his head.

“There’s only one I want and though pretty he may be, none can compare with Helen.”

Diomedes took a step forward.

“Even if he has their protection, I do not hesitate to challenge the gods. Not with Pallas at my side,” he declared and approached the man splayed on the floor under the triumphant stare from Agamemnon.

Achilles seethed with anger.

“You’re a fool if you think the gods will concede this. Athena will cease to support you.”

“Or perhaps it is you who offended her with your arrogance,” countered Diomedes and took Agamemnon’s erstwhile place.

***

As the evening went on, they tied his hands behind his back with the scraps of his own tunic and secured him to a pole with a short rope fixed tight around his neck. It did not quite choke, but it made breathing uncomfortable with how it bite into the skin.

Even brought lower than a captive girl, he still fought, whenever one reached out to touch him, never giving up his pride, even though man after man had their way with him. This excited some: to be able to overpower the one who seemed the best among them, to see the unapproachable ideal cast into the dirt beneath their feet.

Even as his struggles grew somewhat weaker as the physical extortion began to take its toll, Achilles kept cursing his attackers, promising repayment for his violation.

“You will beg me to fight for you,” he spat in contempt even as his muscles trembled with exhaustion of trying to keep himself upright. “But I’d rather watch you all die than move a finger to your aid.”

Someone hit him in the jaw and Achilles couldn’t shield himself since his arms were tied behind his back, the swift bend only weakened the blow. He charged with his body but the rope pulled him back, choking him as the attacker moved away.

Odysseus stepped towards him. Achilles looked up and spat the blood from his mouth.

“You too, you craven?” he asked.

“I prefer real women to those who only dress themselves like ones,” the king of Ithaca said, eliciting a round of laughter from the assembly.

When the men were distracted, he leaned down to Achilles with a gag in his hands.

“This is for your own good,” he whispered into the blond, now messy locks, “you’re only making it worse for yourself, angering them.”

Achilles tried to jerk away but Odysseus put the contraption on him in a swift movement.

“There,” he said, raising his voice again. “Now he won’t bite or bark anymore.”

The drunken company roared with laughter.

“Pray tell us that story,” Agamemnon prompted. “It was you who found him among the ladies-in-waiting at Lycomedes’ court.”

“Perhaps some other time,” Odysseus declined politely.

What he refused, Thersites eagerly picked up the thread and merrily detailed the tale before them. When he finished, the men doubled over with laughter and Achilles burned with anger and humiliation, unable to do more than stare daggers at anyone who would meet his eyes. Some looked away.

Thersites’ story inspired the idea of dressing Achilles in women’s clothing and the next man took him on his back like a girl, dressed and ravished like the spoils of war, about whom the argument started the whole game.

***

At Myrmidon’s camp, Patroclus paced the well-trodden sandy ground. He was too restless to sit down couldn’t find himself a place and he could tell, by how others followed him with their eyes, that he made them uneasy as well.

“Ah, Automedon,” he addressed Achilles’ charioteer, “some foreboding clutches my heart. He’s gone for too long.”

“The war councils tend to go on forever,” the man said but Patroclus wasn’t convinced.

“I’ll go check on him,” he decided.

“But Achilles’ orders-”

Patroclus did not heed him. Out of the Myrmidons, he was the only one who dared to defy their king. The black feeling in his breast mounted up like a surge of tidal wave when he saw groups of men returning from the assembly. They chatted and joked among themselves but went quiet upon seeing Patroclus.

“What is happening?” he began to ask them. “Where is Achilles?”

But none answered him. They escaped with their eyes from his searching expression.  
Finally, he found him by the sea. For one terrible moment he thought him dead as the man lay unmoving, curled up into a bundle. But then he noticed a shaking breath as if he was crying. Achilles whirled around when Patroclus approached and the sight of his face nearly stopped him from coming closer. The mask of wrath smoothened somewhat as Achilles saw him, so Patroclus took a few more steps and sat down next to him.

He didn’t speak, didn’t reach out with his hand. He took a careful look of Achilles, registering all the scratches and bruises on his naked body. There was dried blood and other substances smeared on his thighs, and the stains of tears upon his cheeks.  
Wordlessly, Patroclus took off his coat and offered it to him but Achilles didn’t take it.

“They will pay,” he said and the cold cruelty in his voice was more terrifying than any of his fits of anger. “They will suffer and bleed and die at the Trojan walls. I will not help them.”  
Patroclus listened and horror and sadness fought in his heart.

“And I’ll make sure Agamemnon will lose this war.” There was a dark promise in Achilles’ voice and fire in his eyes as he reached out with his hand and let the waves touch his skin.  
Patroclus could feel the change in the air that was always there before she appeared as Achilles summoned the eerie forces of the deep sea. The brine roughened like before a storm and Tethis emerged from the abyss.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you had as much fun reading this fic as I had upon creating it :D. It was an amazing, inspiring prompt 
> 
> Achilles does not cope with his anger issues, Achilles sacrifices men as a relaxing activity


End file.
